


The Land Of Sweetness and Danger

by DarlingCera



Category: Sherlock (TV), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: 00Q - Freeform, Anorexia, Eating Disorders, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-21
Updated: 2013-03-16
Packaged: 2017-11-21 23:12:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/603118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarlingCera/pseuds/DarlingCera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Though at times it seems appealing,recovery is not an option for Q. A year of struggle and failure could change everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. January

**Author's Note:**

> A short note about Q's underlings : I have this head canon where they all take code names that start with Q.

The tunnels were just as cold as the air outside and the Quartermaster’s quiet footfalls were the only thing that could be heard. He was the first one there, just like he had been every day since he started. It was the first day he’d been back since the Christmas holidays. If he had been given the choice, Q would have stayed here for Christmas, but instead he’d been forced back to the Holmes Estate in the country to endure his parents and brothers.

Q pushed open the door to Q branch with its clean lines and chrome worktables, ergonomic desk chairs and massive monitor. This place felt more like home than his own flat did. He would never have to leave if this place had a bed. 

He set down his coffee on his desk and opened his laptop. Once it had booted up, he turned on the projector and tuned into a live stream of the world’s news. The world was in its usual state of chaos, bombings, death, destruction, and war, all of the usual suspects. He listened closely for news from Syria as he tinkered with a new gadget. 007 was currently on a mission to Syria involving a terror cell and was due to check in at any moment. Of course he was supposed to check in an hour ago, but the agent operated on his own time table. 

A clicking of high heels signaled Ms.Moneypenny’s arrival. “Morning, Quartermaster.” She said, her voice bright and chipper, as usual “I’ve brought more fuel for the machine.” The machine had become his nickname recently. It had bothered Q until he realized that that was exactly what he was. 

Q tried to smile as he accepted another coffee. “Thanks.” He replied. Warm was always good. Warm kept his insides quiet for just a little longer. Q went back to his work, making slight adjustments and running tests, writing code. 

“Morning, Quartermaster” 007 said into Q’s ear.

“Morning, 007, Would it kill you to check in at the allotted time? You make my job quite frustrating.” Q said. 

Honestly, he didn’t care if Bond checked in an hour or so late, he knew better than to assume that Bond wouldn’t have to spend at least an hour trying to get whatever woman had made her way into his bed the night before out of his hotel room.

There had been a woman that night, but she had left as soon as the deed was done, after all, she had a husband to get back to. Bond had fallen asleep alone and just a bit drunk. 

“What’s your status?” He asked into his ear piece.

“Alive, I should be wrapping things up here today and on my way back to England by this evening.” 007 replied. 

“Alright, let me know if you need me.” He said as he sent Bond off. Q took another sip of his coffee and let the heat fill his empty stomach. 

Q’s legs shook beneath him and he made his way to his desk, sipping his coffee as he wrote more code on his lap top, one leg folded beneath him. His underlings were coming in now, one by one, and taking their places at their desks. Some sipped coffees, others had food. Food was the one thing that was strictly forbidden in the work space.

“Quark!” Q called out to the man sitting halfway on the other side of the room. “Either take the bloody bagel outside or put it in the bin. You know the rules!” 

Quark nodded and got up to finish his breakfast in the corridor. “Why’s Q such a bloody bitch about the bagels?” He muttered , rolling his eyes as he walked out of the door. 

"I heard that!" Q called out to him.

Being able to smell other people’s food from absurd distances was the worst part about all of this. Of course it was right up there with the shaking, and the feeling that his stomach was trying to eat itself, but out of all of these things it was by far the most frustrating. 

The morning continued as normal, Q at his desk, sipping cup after cup of coffee, occasionally letting one of his underlings fetch it for him. She was definitely sweet on him. He wasn’t repelled by her, but he didn’t return the sentiment. Quell was lovely, and Q couldn’t bear to break her heart just yet.

He thanked her for the coffee and she smiled as she went back to her desk. Q set himself to repairing one of the radios that 007 had broken over the course of the last several months. The small device had been busted completely open, but it wasn’t as though it had gone through some horrible trauma in combat. It had merely been stepped on in a careless moment in a hotel room. At least Bond hadn’t needed it that time.  
He was going on three days now, three full days of running on completely empty. There just wasn’t time for it, nor did he care about it at all. Physically, however, it was taking its toll. The excessive caffeine was making his hands shake and the lack of food was making him sleepy.

Bond’s next check in time was coming up and Q waited with baited breath.

“Quartermaster?” Bond whispered as he made his way into a hide-out.

“Yes, 007?” Q replied, setting down the broken radio. 

“I’ve entered their headquarters.” 007 said “I’m preparing to get the hard drive and take out the head of the cell.” 

“Excellent.” Q said “You’ve remembered to wear the lapel pin with the camera, right?” 

“No…It’s on my other jacket.” The agent confessed.  
“For God’s sake, Bond!” The younger man groaned.

“I’ll be alright. I’ll be in touch.” And with that, Bond’s voice was gone from Qs ear. 

He got back to work, replacing wires and missing screws until the radio was as good as new. When he finally looked at the clock it was almost noon. He had been sitting here with that damn device for way too long. Q let out a sigh and leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.

When he opened them, Quell was standing at his desk. 

“Quartermaster?” She said, the tips of her fingers resting on the edge of Q’s desk.

“Yes?” He replied, sitting up straight again. 

“I’m checking out for lunch. So are Quill and Quark. Also, Ms.Moneypenny wants to see you, she says it’s urgent.” Her voice took on a slight note of despair at the utterance of Eve’s name. 

“Alright, be back in an hour. If you see Ms.Moneypenny on your way out, tell her to come down here because I may need to assist 007.” He replied. 

Quell walked away and Q watched her go. She was already tall, but got a good five extra inches from her glittery, blue high heels. She was a full-figured woman, bordering on chubby and her wardrobe was nothing short of colorful. 

“Q?” she asked, as she was half way out of the room. Quell turned around, her glossy pink lips in a slight frown. 

Q made a noise of acknowledgment. 

“Would you like me to bring you something back?” She asked

“No, thank you though.” Q gave her a small, reassuring smile.

“Alright then, see you soon.” She turned back around and quietly closed the door behind her. 

A few minutes passed and a different pair of high heels came clicking into Q branch, this pair was attached to the ankles of one Ms.Moneypenny.

“Your little girlfriend said you couldn’t meet me in my office. I take it you’re waiting for 007, then?” She asked as she pulled up a chair and set the straps of her large tote bag over the back of it. 

“She’s not my girlfriend.” Q said “You know better.”

Eve laughed. “I forgot you mostly go for the menfolk. Anyway, I come bearing gifts.” She said, reaching into her tote bag and pulling out two plastic bowls, two spoons and a thermos. 

“Really Eve?” Q sighed, looking down at the bowl.

“Yes, Q, really.” She replied, opening the thermos.

“But it might get on the laptop.” Q fussed.

“Then move it. That’s the whole point of laptops, isn’t it? That they can be scooted to the other side of the table?” Eve rolled her eyes.

“I’m not hungry.” He pouted.

“Yes you are, Q.” Eve groaned. “How many days has it been?” 

“Three.” 

“Look, I know you don’t want to recover, but I would prefer that you at least try to stay alive.” A tone of frustration was in her voice now “It’s just tomato soup.”

Q paused for a moment. He looked at the bowl and watched as Eve poured herself a bowl and crumbled up a couple of crackers into it.

“I see you’re improving.” He finally said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Eve asked, assuming Q was being smart. 

“Last time you made me eat your damn soup, you wouldn’t put crackers into it.” He answered, taking the thermos from her and pouring himself a half-bowl. 

“Don’t damn my soup, Q it’s home made.” She sighed. 

“Still won’t let anyone make your food for you, I see.” He remarked, dipping his spoon into the soup. 

“No. I was doing well until I went out to dinner a while ago and they messed up my order. It was they nearly covered my salad in cheese. I ate it anyways because I didn’t want to make a fuss, but I’m just not alright with relinquishing that control yet.” Eve explained, dusting the cracker crumbs off of her hands.

“You and your therapy talk.” Q sneered.

“It’s not funny Q. I wish you would just try recovery again. You did really well last time, until the whole Silva incident.” Eve was growing more worried about Q by the day. “You can’t tell me you feel better now than you did before that.” 

He thought for a moment

“I feel fine, Eve.” Q groaned.

They were quiet for a long while and Q carefully spooned more soup into his mouth, holding each spoonful on his tongue for a count of ten, then swallowing. 

“Breaking your own rules, You’re such a rebel.” Eve smiled, trying to lighten the mood.

The Quartermaster cracked a small smile “That rule only exists so I don’t have to smell what everyone else is eating.” He said.

Just then Bond came on the ear piece. “Send in the extraction team, I’m done here. I almost had to use the emergency radio.” 

“Alright, 007.” Q said, rolling his computer chair over to the laptop on the other end of his desk.

“Tell James I said hello!” Eve whispered.

Q rolled his eyes as he tapped a few keys, sending signal to the extraction team. “Extraction is on their way, Also, Ms.Moneypenny says hello.” 

“Send my regards, I’ll be in Q branch to return your equipment after debriefing.” 007 said. 

“Will do. I’ll be here.” Q replied, and with that, the conversation was over. 

“Bond sends his regards.” Q said.

“Excellent. Finish your soup and I’ll be on my way.” Money penny pointed to the bowl. 

Q rolled his eyes and picked up the bowl, drinking it down and spilling a bit on his cardigan.

“That’s what you get for acting like a twat.” Eve sighed as she reached into her bag to pull out a stain removal pen and handing it to her petulant brat of a friend. 

He uncapped the device and pressed it to the tomato soup stain, rubbing the cleaning liquid in with the tip. “I wish I had thought of this. I’d be a millionaire and I wouldn’t be working here.” He said, handing it back to her.   
“But then you wouldn’t have met me!” Eve teased as she got up and removed her bag from the back of the chair. “Well, I best be off. M will be expecting me. Do try to take care of yourself. Take some vitamins or something.”   
Deep down, Q knew that he was just a bit jealous of Eve. He couldn’t pull himself out of this rut, as far as Q was concerned, he would carry around his eating disorder around for the rest of his life. At the rate things were going now, the rest of his life wouldn’t be very long.


	2. Febuary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to just go with Q being bisexual. I don't know why, but I feel like this works. I forgot to mention last chapter that the title is a lyric from National Anthem by Lana Del Rey.

February

Tonight, Q was alone.

The streets of London were completely silent.

It was half-past two in the morning, Q was thoroughly exhausted by the time he left his office, and the cold didn’t make him feel any better. As he walked along the empty sidewalk, he spotted a crime scene and D.I Lestrade gave him a casual wave as he walked past. 

Q stopped in his tracks and looked over the crime tape. 

Lestrade looked over his shoulder at Doctor John Watson, who was examining a dead man, who was covered by a tarp, in the middle of the alleyway, and then back to Q. He shrugged and shook his head. Q nodded and kept walking. 

He hadn’t heard from Dr. Watson after Sherlock had jumped to his death off of the roof of Saint Bart’s, but it could be assumed that he was anything but well. 

He compartmentalized the image of John examining the body, placing it in his mind palace. 

A pang of grief hit his gut. 

Sherlock had taught him that.  
For most, the image of Sherlock being anything but a cold, arrogant bastard was hard to get past, but he and Q had always been close. They had found out early on that the two of them had enough in common, and that neither had much in common with Mycroft. Mycroft had become almost like an enemy in their childhood. Q smiled a little as he suddenly recalled bursting into Mycroft’s room in pirate outfits and laying into him with their wooden swords. Technically, Sherlock had done most of the bursting in, Q had just toddled behind. He let out a quiet chuckle as he turned the corner. 

Sherlock had always been captain, and Q was his first mate. 

The quiet of his flat was almost jarring. Normally there was the hum of machines, the whir of fans that kept computers from over-heating, the chatter of his underlings as they guided their agents. That was work.   
Now he was home, in a space that only belonged to him. It felt wrong. This place was alien. 

He flipped a light switch and the sitting room lit up. He set down his bag on the sofa and went to his bedroom, placing his phone on its charger next to his bed. Then Q made his way to the bathroom and turned on the bath, making the water as hot as possible

Q removed his clothes, turning away from the mirror as he did so. A cardigan fell to the floor, then a tie and a white button down. He kicked off his shoes and socks, finally removing his trousers and pants.

“No. Don’t look. You don’t need that.” He told himself as thoughts of turning around and looking in the mirror invaded his mind. But he couldn’t help it. Q turned around to face the full-length mirror that hung from the back of the door. 

The rumble of the water filling the bath crowded his ears as he stared at himself in the unflattering white light. 

He started at the top, with the dark messy curls that had been falling out in clumps as of late, he could ignore that. His eyes looked dull, but that was probably from lack of sleep and nothing more. Long fingers traced the outlines of the dark circles that had taken up a permanent residence under his green eyes.

Next was the collar bone. It had always stuck out, but now it was one of the first things someone would notice   
He quickly took inventory of his ribs. He could see his false and floating ribs though they were little more than an outline. A pair of hip bones stuck out, though that was normal.

Eve had been jealous of the wide gap between his thighs.

Q had never thought much of it, as it was another one of those things which had always been there. She eventually got her own gap, but went into therapy soon after. It was gone now and she didn’t seem to mind on the outside. 

On the outside, she didn’t appear to be struggling at all and Q was almost angry with her for it.

A chill ran through the Quartermaster’s body and he decided that now would be a good time to get in the water. The bath was almost full and Q turned the water off as he stepped in, the heat from the water brought sensation back to his feet and he sighed with relief as the rest of his body sank down into the tub. 

Q put as much of his body as he could into the water, curling and uncurling his fingers and toes, hoping to stimulate circulation. 

He curled his knees up to his chest, wrapped his arms around his calves and rested his head on his knees as he slowly thawed out.

Eve was on his mind. Truth be told, she often was. He shoved her away and focused on the silence, still moving his toes to help spread the heat. 

Once he was thoroughly warmed up, Q climbed out of the bath and let the water go, making a mad dash to his bedroom where he put on his heaviest pajamas, checking his phone immediately after.

“Three texts…all from an unknown number” he said aloud as he opened the first.   
The first read “Done now. Will return things tomorrow- Mr.Shore” He could chalk that one up to 007. Bond had probably destroyed his equipment and tomorrow morning, Q would receive a pile of scrap with a bow on top. 

 

The second said “Had to switch my phone number, my contract was up and I wanted to switch carriers. – E.M” He quickly saved Eve’s new number, deleted the old one and opened the third text. 

“I’m watching you.” Was all it said.

“What the hell?” Q quickly put his phone back on the table and crawled under the blankets, but not before making sure his gun was within reach. 

He thought briefly about calling someone about that last message. A list of people went through his head. Mycroft’s was the first name on that list, Eve was the second. M appeared somewhere on that list as well, but he let his phone stay on the end table for the night. 

 

It must be a joke. That’s all it was. It was nothing more than a prank. Some kids tried typing in a random number and sending a cryptic message for the sake of getting a rise out of some poor bastard.

Q pulled the covers up to his chin and settled into an uneasy sleep. 

His alarm rings promptly at five-thirty A.M. Q groans and sits up, slamming a hand onto the device in hopes of quieting it. Silence falls over the room and climbs out of bed, taking the blanket with him as he makes his way to the kitchen. 

The tea kettle is on the stove and Q is back in his bedroom. He pulls a grey cardigan from his closet and tosses it on the bed along with a pair of black trousers.

He dressed himself at lightning speed in an effort to keep the cold from permeating his skin.

Once his clothes are on, and his glasses are perched on his nose, Q returns to the kitchen to find that the kettle is boiling. 

Steaming Earl Grey is poured into a large, insulated travel mug and set on the table next to the bag containing Q’s laptop and some files. 

Back in his bedroom, Q picked up his phone off of the table and plugged a pair of ear phones into it. He had no intention of listening to music, but it made the world a little quieter. 

He checked for new messages. There was nothing. 

Q’s heaviest parka , a birthday gift from his mother, makes a soft rustling noise as it slides on over his shoulders. The quartermaster grabbed his things and locked the door as he left his flat. 

A light snow fell from the sky as Q walked down the street and down into the tube station. When the train arrived, he got on board and stood among the throng of his fellow passengers, holding onto a rail for support.

Q looked up and nearly died on the spot.

On the other side of the compartment was a man of about six feet. His hair was short and ginger-colored. He was dressed in loose jeans and a sweat shirt, hiding a thin frame beneath. 

Q studied his face for longer, his cheek bones were high and sharp, his skin was pallid and a light smattering of facial hair covered his cheeks. 

The man turned and Q saw crystal blue eyes. Q felt the wind fly right out of him and he held on to the rail a little tighter.

Q wasn’t sure if the man had seen him or not, but he made himself scarce and watched as the mysterious man got off at the next stop. 

Working as fast as he possibly could, Q hacked into the cameras that Mycroft had set up around London to keep an eye on Sherlock. He had assumed that Mycroft wouldn’t have bothered to take them down in the wake of Sherlock's death.

Soon, he had a video feed of the previous stop and its immediate vicinity. He found nothing. Not a trace of the mystery man was left.

A message buzzed through from a blocked number.

He stood amidst the crowd on the platform and opened the message.

“That’s a lovely parka.” It said.

Q made his way down to his office and for once, he was not the first one there.

James Bond sat in Q’s special, lumbar-supporting- ergonomic-designed-with-you-in-mind desk chair. His feet were propped up on the chrome surface of Q’s desk, a bit of dirt accumulated in a small pile next to his heel. 

“You’re early.” Q said, trying not to sound too shaken by what he’d seen earlier. 

“I only got in about an hour ago. There wasn’t any point in going home. ” Bond replied as he unpinned the lapel camera from his blazer. 

Bond placed it in Q’s hand and began rummaging in his pockets for the fully-functional mobile phone which held a false battery that could be used as a secret compartment. 

It was dinged up a bit, with a large crack in the screen, but nothing Q couldn’t fix.

“Don’t be upset, Quartermaster.” Bond replied, sarcasm evident in his tone.

“I’m not. It’s just a crack. I’ll have it fixed by the end of the day” Q sighed, too tired for banter. He turned the phone over in his hands and set it down on the desk. 

“Why don’t you put your talents to better use and make me that exploding pen? You claim you don’t do things like that anymore but you sent me out with a mobile that’s got a secret compartment.” Bond said. 

“A secret compartment for the computer chip you were sent out to acquire. Now get out of my desk.” Q snapped. 

“And what if I don’t?” Bond asked,petulantly as he raised an eyebrow.

Q took a sip of his tea. “I could say something about sending you on your next mission with a water pistol, but that would be cliché. Instead I think I’ll just pull up another chair.” Q made his way to Quark’s desk, took the chair out from under it and slid over next to 007.

“You’ll get bored down here eventually.” He said, setting down his tea and pulling out his laptop. 

“Oi! Who took my chair?” Quark called, setting his fast-food breakfast on the desk. The paper bag was stained with grease that would surely get all over everything and the smell was positively revolting. Q rolled his eyes.

“I took it. You can thank 007 for taking my chair. Besides you won’t be needing it because you’ll be eating your damn food in the corridor!” Q replied. “Every day with that nonsense…” He muttered, shaking his head. 

“I suppose I should be going before a mutiny starts.” James rolled his eyes and got up. “Give the poor man his chair will you?” 

“No. You take it back over there.” Q said, sitting back down in his own chair. 

Bond stifled a laugh and rolled the chair back to Quark’s desk. 

Q set to work immediately. He inspected the lapel camera; it didn’t seem to be in bad shape. He plugged it into the computer and took the video off of it, just to clear the memory for next time. 

The Quartermaster loaded the video and clicked play, mostly for curiosity’s sake. The first thing he saw was the floor of a hotel room. A pair of feminine legs came into focus and a cocktail dress fell down onto the floor.   
A few minutes later, the woman was on her back on the floor and Bond was shirtless on top of her. “Christ.” Q thought as he looked at his screen.

“Q?” A soft voice said.

The Quartermaster’s gaze snapped up from the screen and up onto Quell’s face, stopping briefly at her chest. 

Her smile was small and shy. 

“I know you have a thing about food in Q branch, but I’ve brought muffins. They’re homemade. I thought maybe you’d want one.” She sounded mildly proud of herself. 

Q sat there for a moment, slack-jawed. He had just been watching James bond mount some random woman and now Quell was standing at his desk, offering him food. 

“Yeah...Erm, thank you. They smell lovely.” He said, minimizing the video. 

Q got up and followed Quell to her desk where a plastic container of blueberry muffins sat. She handed him one on a napkin and he went to the corridor to eat it, tearing off small pieces and eating them instead of just biting into it. He tried not to concern himself too greatly with it, but there was a lingering worry that it would raise the number on his bathroom scale. "Stop it. It's one muffin." He told himself as he deposited the wrapper in a bin, worry still nagging the back of his brain

Q sat back down and resumed the video. Things were definitely heating up between 007 and the woman with the curvaceous figure and long dark hair.

He was practically pounding into her now, Q couldn't tear his eyes away if he tried. He pictured himself beneath Bond in that woman's position. 

His pupils must have been blown wide now. He bit his lower lip and watched the muscles in Bond’s broad shoulders move under the lightly tanned skin. More than anything, Q desperately wished he could feel something right now. Not right now in the middle of Q branch, but something none the less. He quickly saved the video to a thumb drive and placed it in his bag, determined to watch it again later.

Not being able to “get it up” sometimes was just one of the many consequences of the disease. It had done such a good job of taking over his brain that it didn’t even matter that at twenty-five, he was having erectile issues. Well, it hadn’t mattered until recently.

Q closed the video and wormed his way back into Mycroft’s security system to monitor the streets for the man from the tube. This was ridiculous. Why was he even worried about this? It was merely a coincidence. 

There were a million people on this planet with eyes and cheekbones just like Sherlock’s.


	3. March

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q and eve have about as much fun as they can have with a pizza as the mysterious texts continue to pour in.  
> Beta-read by : Dawn Phoenix

March  
A low growl in his stomach signaled the need for food. “For God’s sake,” he thought, as he maximized the blue print of the hotel that Bond was currently in. 

“There should be a door to your left,.” Q said to 007.  
“Yes, I see it; give me a minute to pick the lock.” Bond replied, depressing the tumblers and waiting to hear that tell-tale click that would allow him entry. 

“I’m in,” he said. Q heard through his earpiece.

“Alright, check the safe. It should be either under the bed or behind a painting,” Q instructed. 

“Q… It’s sitting out in the middle of the room. Something isn’t right, they wouldn’t do that,” Bond said.  
He approached the table and carefully opened the box. 

“Fuck!” he cursed when he opened its lid. “It’s a fucking bomb.” 

“Turn on the camera,” Q commanded. He traded out the view of the hotel’s blue print for a video feed. 

Bond pressed a tiny button on the back of his lapel pin and video feed went to the large monitor in Q branch.

“Jesus Christ,-” Q groaned, picking up his coffee. “Alright, first you want to stop the timer.”

“Alright first you want to stop the timer.” He explained.

“Q, shut up. I know what I’m doing,” Bond said, pulling a pair of wire cutters from his suit pocket. 

“Fine, fine, but if you get hurt and I get grief for it, I’m going to come after you,” the Quartermaster replied, lifting his coffee again. 

“You can’t come after me if I’m dead,” the agent teased, cutting a wire. Q watched 007 with the bomb. 

“I’m at an impasse,” he said, torn between two seemingly identical wires. Q sighed  
.  
“I’ll hand you over to Quark,” Q said. “Quark, 007 has an issue involving a bomb,” he said into his ear piece. 

After handing 007 over to Q branch’s bombs and ballistics expert, Q returned to his personal desk at the back of the room. 

Moneypenny had perched herself on the shiny surface of Q’s desk.

"Have you had anything today?" she asked, her brown eyes suspicious.

“A couple of things,” Q began. “Quell is trying to feed me up.”

Eve smiled. “How sweet of her. Are you keeping any of it down?” 

“Come on, Eve, you know I don’t do that.” Q replied. He’d heard more than enough horror stories of lost teeth and acid eroded esophagi.  
“So, you’re just letting it all sit there?” She said, her eyebrows raised in doubt and disbelief. 

“No… I’ve been moving about a lot more, if that’s what you’re asking.” Q said, looking down at the ground.

“The gym?” Eve asked, an astonished expression played on her features.

“Yes… Just the treadmills. I’m not sure I know how to use much else,” Q chuckled.

“He’s all yours, boss!” Quark called from the other side of the room.

“I’ll see you tonight, then?” Eve asked.

“Of course,.” Q agreed.

“My flat or yours?” 

“Yours, if you don’t mind. My place is in a state.” He rolled his eyes as he turned around and went back to the command station.

“You’re so very picky about your messes, Quartermaster. Right then, see you tonight, Mr. Perfect., I’ve got an appointment at the GP.” Eve sighed as she left Q branch and went off to her appointment. 

He shooed Quark away from his monitors and resumed communication with 007, leading him out of the building and to the roof where the extraction team could get to him. 

Q didn’t wait. He handed 007 to Quell so she could oversee his transport home and left MI6. Nothing could possibly go wrong now, could it? He stifled his worries as he made his way to the underground station . 

As of lately, the Tube had become the most exciting and nerve wracking part of his day. Ever since he’d seen the mystery man last month, he’d been hoping that the stars would align and he would appear again.

There hadn’t been any more sightings, but the mysterious texts had kept coming in. 

It had started out as little things.

_“Be careful.”_

_“Watch yourself.”_

_“Don’t just see, observe.”_ None of them made any sense, though the last one sounded eerily similar to something Sherlock had said to him throughout their youth.

But there was no sign of him. 

Then the messages took a more interesting turn.

The first one that was of a particular strangeness contained nothing more than the date of his birth.

The next one held simply his mother’s name: Violet Louise Holmes.

Q hadn’t replied to any of the messages, not wanting to further encourage the already persistent pranksters.

Q got off at the stop closest to Eve’s flat. Her building was a few minutes away. and her flat was on the fourth floor.

His phone buzzed as he exited the underground station.

“Jan. 6th 1980 - Jan. 15th 2012 .Perhaps the date of death is wrong?” was all the text from the blocked number said.  
That was the final straw for the quartermaster. He felt his ears grow hot and his face flush. 

“The date is perfectly correct, my brother is dead, kindly stop texting me. I have the capability to track this number if I so choose. I’ve been kind to you so far, but I won’t be so kind if I get another message from you little shits.” He hit send and continued his walk towards Eve’s flat. 

His stomach let out a painful growl as he began climbing the four flights of stairs to get to his friend’s home.  
Meanwhile, in the alley behind Eve’s building, Ginger-haired Sherlock Holmes in disguise puffed on a cigarette and read his little brother’s message.

“What am I going to have to do to convince you?” he groaned as he pocketed his phone and walked away, stopping by Speedy’s for a sandwich. He paused outside of the door to 221B Baker Street and thought of his two brothers and John Watson. They said,‘you never really know what you have until it’s gone’. Sherlock Holmes was well aware of what he had as he walked away. 

Q knocked on Eve’s door and waited patiently. 

He saw a large brown eye peering through the tiny peep hole in the door, and then heard it the door knob being unlocked and a chain latch sliding open.

“Ah, Mister Holmes, I’ve been expecting you,.” Eve said, with a fake upper-crust tone to her voice and a large smile on her lips. 

Q chuckled. “I should hope you were expecting me, Miss Moneypenny. You’re the one who invited me.” 

She moved out of the doorway and Q stepped into her flat. 

It was larger than his own and more nicely furnished. 

“How was your appointment?” Q asked, flopping down on Eve’s plush sofa. He had enough time to give his legs a short stretch before Eve sat down on his thighs. 

“Not too terrible. You can tell Dr. Watson is still pretty busted up about your brother,” she sighed. 

“I’ll hazard that he is,” Q replied. “I saw him working a crime scene with Scotland Yard the other night.” Q replied.

“Your brother must have really rubbed off on him,.” Eve suggested, leaning her back against the couch. 

“I wouldn’t doubt it, Sherlock seems to have that effect on people. So, Sherlock aside, what did the doctor say?”

“Not too much. ” She said. “Blah blah blah, weight restoration, blah blah. I love how they dance around the word ‘Gain’ like it’s some kind of naughty word,” Eve laughed. 

Q thought for a moment, but decided not to say anything.  
“Should we call in for a pizza?” Eve asked, finally breaking the silence. “I really can’t be arsed to cook.” 

“I suppose so.” Q rolled his eyes. He knew the two of them would probably end up picking at it, making up the calories lost in alcohol and falling into bed. 

“Pass me my mobile, will you? Don’t make me get up.” 

Q reached up behind his head to feel around on the end table and picked up the device when his hand finally settled on it. 

Eve took it from him and went through her contacts list. 

The quartermaster closed his eyes and tuned out her voice as she ordered, instead clearing his head.

His eyes had drifted closed when he felt Eve’s weight shift. Her hair caressed his cheek and he slid one arm around her as she rested her head on his shoulder, one hand resting on his chest. Her mobile had been gently discarded on the floor. 

Q wouldn’t hesitate to admit that whatever he and Eve shared didn’t fall into the normal definition of friendship. A friend with benefits wasn’t exactly an accurate term either. He decided that putting a label on it wasn’t worth his time. All Q knew was that Eve was the only person who was allowed to touch him. He assumed it was because she had felt all of the same things. She knew all of his secrets because they were her secrets too. 

Eve was dosing off on his shoulder now, her breath slow and even. His mobile buzzed again and he momentarily filled with rage as he reached into his pocket. 

“007 is home safe. -Quell” 

His heart slowed again and his frustration abated. 

Meanwhile at MI6 James Bond was making his way back down to Q branch. 

He felt out of place in the stark white room with its monitors and wires. The agent wasn’t sure how any of them could stand the constant glow of monitors on top of the stifling fluorescent lights above their heads. 

“007?” A small voice said from behind him. 

He turned around to see the tall, blonde woman. She peered at him over the tops of her cat’s-eye glasses.  
“Quartermistress.” Bond smiled. 

“It’s not my title, 007,” she sighed. “Just Quell.” 

“Ah, very well then, Quell,” the agent replied. “If I might ask, where is Q?” 

“If I might ask, where is your equipment?” 

“That is an excellent question to which I have an excellent answer.” Bond smirked as he pulled his radio and slightly battered Walther out of his pocket and handed them over. 

“Not too much damage. Excellent, Q would faint if he saw you bring all of this back in one piece.” Her expression stayed flat.  
“Anyways,” she continued. “Q left a couple of hours ago. I think he’s with Ms. Moneypenny.” Her tone took a slight drop of disappointment. 

Bond nodded. “Well, make sure that gets back to him, will you?” he flashed her a smile as he turned around and left Q branch.

For a moment, Quell fell under Bond’s spell, but she snapped out of it quickly enough and returned to her desk to put the gun in a locked drawer so it could be handed over to Q in the morning. 

James Bond went home to his own flat and changed out of his trademark suit and tie into slacks and a knit jumper. 

He made himself comfortable with a glass of wine and the re-heated remnants of last night’s supper. 

Exhausted, he settled down into his favorite chair and kicked off his shoes. As he propped his sock-clad feet up on a plush ottoman, he pulled out his mobile to check the time. 

The evening news was on and he only paid it half of his attention as he ate. An idea popped into his head. Certainly it was a bit silly and more than a little juvenile, but what else did he have planned? _“Absolutely nothing,”_ he thought, taking the small device from its place on the end table. 

At Eve’s flat, Q’s phone buzzed again. 

“Christ…” He sighed and opened up the message, praying it wasn’t something urgent from Q branch. 

_“So, you and Moneypenny?”_ the message read. Q looked at the number, rolled his eyes and quickly typed an answer.

 _“No. And even if that were the case, why would it be your business?”_ He hit send as Eve began to drool a bit on his shoulder. 

It made no sense to him;, how could anyone fall asleep so quickly and in the odd positions and places that Eve did?  
Just as he had begun to relax, another buzz came from his mobile

_“Well, I suppose it’s not. I’m just making conversation.”_

There was a knock on the door and Eve finally awoke. She groggily extracted herself from Q , not caring about any pain she might have caused him by pushing herself off of him. 

He let out a groan when he sat up after the heel of a hand had sunk into his stomach. Q stretched and got up just as Eve was closing the door behind the pizza man. 

“Who keeps texting you?” she asked as she set the box down on the coffee table

Q took a slice of pizza from the box and pulled the crust off, tossing it back in with the rest of the pizza. 

“007,” he answered. 

“What does Bond want with you? “ Eve furrowed her brows.

“Hell if I know. He claims to just be ‘making conversation’.” Q rolled his eyes.

“Bond doesn’t ‘make conversation’ unless he’s trying to get into someone’s pants,.” she said as she peeled a pepperoni off of her pizza and examined it carefully before tossing it back into the box. 

They both took napkins and began to dab at the orange grease that seemed to be oozing from the pizza slices. 

“I can’t imagine why he’d want to get into my trousers,” Q said, squeezing a slice of pepperoni inside of his napkin, just to make sure all of the grease was off. 

“Bond will stick his cock in anything with a pulse,” she explained, peeling some cheese off and flinging it at the lid to the pizza box. It hit the center of the lid and she squealed with delight. “Ten points for me!” she laughed.

Q tried not to choke on his pepperoni. 

“Christ, Eve, control yourself! We aren’t even drunk yet,” he said after he finally managed to swallow. 

“Can you imagine how much fun we’ll be once we’re smashed? Think of the possibilities, Q!” she said, pulling a chunk of the pizza away from the slice and eating it. 

Eve brought over a bottle of red wine when they had finished eating (if one could call tearing apart a pizza and eating bits and pieces of it over the course of an hour eating).

Later they both sat lazily on the couch, Q’s head resting on Eve’s lap as she stroked the hair away from his face.  
“Your phone keeps buzzing. I bet it’s those damn kids again,” she slurred, handing Q his phone.

“It’s Bond. Apparently, he thinks we’re shagging,.” Q replied, flipping through the messages, some of them vulgar, but most of them vaguely humorous.

“I’ll hazard he’s drunk too,” she giggled.

That wasn’t far from the truth. It had taken the double-oh agent a while, but he had finally managed to get slightly more than tipsy. He was disappointed though, that he wasn’t getting any witty responses  
.  
The hour was growing late now and they had drifted off to Ms. Moneypenny’s bedroom, Q was the one who fell asleep first, curled up in a down comforter with his tie cast off to the side and his glasses on the floor. 

Q woke up the next morning and made his way into the kitchen to make coffee. He began to rummage through the cabinets. “Why the hell do you have to constantly re-organize? Can’t leave anything in the same damn place can you, Eve?” he grumbled, though the woman in question was still asleep in her bed. 

He began fishing in the cabinet closest to the refrigerator, and thought he’d almost felt a bag of coffee beans when something fell on him and hit the counter top with a rattling nose. 

Q didn’t have his glasses on, but when he picked up the packet up and got a closer look he knew immediately what it was. 

A sheet of large pills had fallen from a container.

“Diet pills?” he wondered aloud as he reached up for the box, finding a wide assortment of slimming supplements along with laxatives and diuretics. 

“Holy shit.” He tried so hard not to laugh; he knew this whole “recovery” business was too good to be real. Nobody was fixed just like that. 

Q gathered the pills up in his arms and went back to the bedroom, coffee long forgotten.

He pounced onto the bed, his head nearly touching the low ceiling. The sheets and bottles of pills rained down from his arms.

“The fuck are you doing?” Eve groaned, her voice heavy with sleep. 

“Calling you out, you lying whore,” he teased. 

She sat up and looked at the mess on her bed. “You’re a pathetic man- child,” she sighed. 

He straddled her thighs. “I don’t know why you felt like you needed to lie to me. ‘Getting better’, my arse. You were just getting sick in a different way.” Q prodded her in the chest with his index finger.

She grabbed his hand and pulled it away. “I’ve made some honest efforts to get better, but I relapse. Besides, you looked like you were on death’s door.”

Q rolled his green eyes. “I’m nowhere close to death’s door, Eve.” He sighed as he kissed the tip of her nose, then gently brushed her lips. “You needn’t worry about me.”

“That isn’t what Quell told me. I’ve got spies of my own, Mr. Holmes,” she said. “She said you fainted the other day and that she’s trying to feed you up because you look positively ill. ”

“Men do not faint, Ms. Moneypenny, they pass out,” he said, puffing himself up in the hopes that joking would make Eve feel better. “I promise you, I’ll be fine.” He said.

Eve smiled. “Enough talk about dying. Clean up your mess, you little shit. I’ll make coffee.”

He got up off of her lap and began to gather the pills.


	4. April

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q and eve have an arrangement. 007 returns some of his equipment and makes up for what he lost. Mycroft has a little bird chirping in his ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I just have constructive criticism? Or any sort of criticism for that matter?

April  
“I fucking hate Tescos,” “ Q whined, as he let Eve lead him through the door and into the packed supermarket.

“It’s not a Tesco, Q, it’s a Tesco Express. There’s a difference.” She was trying to be funny, but it obviously wasn’t helping. Eve finally gave up when Q rolled his eyes . 

“Then why did you come?” she asked, gripping Q’s wrist a little tighter and dragging him towards the packed lunches.

“You made me! You came down to my desk and said ‘Q, get up, we’re going to Tescos’ and then you grabbed me by the wrist and dragged me here!” he defended.

“You’re so full of shit that your eyes are turning brown.” Eve sighed, inspecting a box containing an egg and cress sandwich. 

“Mallory eats the most disgusting things. I can’t go near him after he eats this; his breath stinks for hours,” she lamented, putting it in the basket before picking up lunch for herself and Q, who she’d determined was going to eat wheather he wanted to or not. 

The store was packed with people seeking sandwiches, salads, and pasta. People were shuffling left and right and the queue was absurdly long. 

“Ugh, it’s stupid busy.” Eve groaned as she looked over at the throng of hungry Londoners. 

Q turned his head to get another look at the line.

He caught a glimpse of ginger hair at the front of one of the queues.

“Eve,” he said, his eyes were blown wide as he tugged on the sleeve of her shirt.

“What?” 

“Look. It’s him,-” Q said, directing her attention to Mystery Man.

“Bloody hell… You’re right. It looks just like him,.” she said, her jaw hanging slightly. 

She gave Q a shove “Go talk to him.”

“No! Are you out of your mind?” he exclaimed.

“Just do it!” 

Q was now determined to approach the man. There were so many people in London that the chances of them running into each other this often were slim, if not zero. The likelihood of these encounters being a coincidence was fading fast.

However, when he turned around, the man was gone. Q quickly scanned the crowd, but found neither hide nor hair of the supposed stranger.

(“Well that was close,” thought Sherlock Holmes, as he hopped into a cab and sped away. ) 

“Well, you seem to have missed another chance,” Eve said dryly, as they found themselves a spot in the shortest queue. 

“But what if it isn’t him? What if he’s just some man who happens to look sort of like Sherlock?” 

“Then you shag him, because he’s gorgeous,.” she replied matter-of-factly.

“Oh, yes, He can fondle my bony arse all night.,” “ Q rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. 

“It’s your own damn fault your arse is so bony,” Eve chided. “If you would just eat more, then you’ would have some padding.” 

“Practice what you preach, Ms. Moneypenny. How much of that salad are you really going to eat? Or better yet, how much is actually going to stay down?”  
That cut to the bone.  
“You cheeky shit!” she said, her neatly-waxed eyebrows furrowed.

They stood in silence and after they had paid, the duo made their way back to MI6. 

She lead Q into her office after handing Mallory his lunch. 

It was slightly smaller than Mallory’s and held a large window with a decent view of the city. The carpet was beige and Eve’s desk was made from a dark wood. On the opposite side of the room was a black leather sofa for M’s visitors to wait on if they arrived early. 

Eve opened her lunch and settled down onto the couch. She patted the space next to her in a way that almost commanded Q to sit. 

She handed him his packed lunch and watched carefully as he opened it and took out the small plastic fork that was inside. 

“Come on,” she said, as Q stared into the plastic container. 

Offhandedly, he considered the possibility that if he sat there long enough, Eve would leave him alone and he could go back down to Q branch in peace. 

She was relentless , however, and when Q continued to resist, she got up off the sofa and lifted up the phone on her desk, dialing down to Q branch.

Like any good second-in-command, Quell picked up after the second ring. 

“Miss Moneypenny?” she said.

“Yes, Quell, it’s me. I’m going to be keeping Q in my office for a bit. Lock him out of Q branch in case he tries to make an escape, will you?”  
“Of course,” the soft voice said on the other side of the tunnels. 

“Thank you, darling.,” Eve hung up the phone and sat back down. 

“There’s nowhere for you to go now. Just eat your food and you’ll be on your merry way.” 

Q let out a frustrated growl and began to pick at the salad, ignoring the packet of dressing which had now been deftly tossed into the space between them.  
He took a bite and chewed slowly, trying as hard as he could not to think about it. He struggled to block out images of food sitting inside of him, rotting.

Nausea began to set in after a few bites, unable to keep the images of decaying bits of chicken and mashed-up spinach leaves out of his head. 

Eve finished her food and Q managed to eat most of the salad, even though it had been a fight until the end.

“You did alright. Don’t be so enthusiastic next time.” Sarcasm dripped from her voice. 

She brewed some coffee in the coffee pot that sat in the corner of the waiting area, pouring a cup for Q in a Styrofoam cup before him on his way with a kiss on the lips, a treat that was becoming increasingly rare. 

He gave her a small smile as she adjusted the lapels on his jacket and ushered him out of her office. 

From the hall way, he could hear her on the phone, instructing Quell to let Q back in. 

She stood at the door, her blonde curls tied up on top of her head in a complicated knot, her shoes making her tower over Q by a couple of inches.  
“007 says he’ll be back late tonight,” she said, forgoing any pleasantries. 

“Right, I’ll stay late. You and the others, go home at your usual times,.” Q replied.

Quell nodded and sat back down at her desk. 

The remainder of Q branch filed out at around nine o’clock that night. Eve came in at nine-thirty to wish him a good night, she hugging him tightly and apologizing for being cross with him earlier.

Q-branch, once illuminated by fluorescent bulbs , was now dark save for the computer on Q’s desk and the wall monitor. 

He was tapping away at his keyboard, performing upgrades here and there ain addition to checks on the security programming. His stomach growled and he took it as a need for more coffee.

Q stood up, stretched out his back, and made his way to a break room. While his coffee brewed, Q stretched again, eliciting popping sounds from his spine as he lifted his arms to the ceiling and stood on his tip-toes. 

He poured hot black coffee into his Q mug and sleepily plodded back to Q branch. Q was well aware that smoking in the building was very much against MI6 policy, but he lit up a cigarette anyways, stopping in the middle of the hallway to put the mug down on the floor and light up.  
James Bond was at his desk to greet him when he returned. Q took one last swig of his coffee and another drag from his cigarette.

“007,” he greeted.

“Quartermaster,” Bond replied.

Q extracted the cigarette from his lips and tapped the ash out into his coffee mug. Sherlock was right; it really was impossible to sustain a smoking habit in London these days. When he had trained briefly under the old Quartermaster before taking over the position himself, the old Q-branch had been littered with ash trays.

“Don’t let your brother catch you with that," Bond chuckled.

“ You make it sound as though Mycroft has any authority over me.” 

“Well, he does occupy a slightly higher position than you do in the government, and he’s nearly ten years your senior,” There was a tone in Bond’s voice, one that Q certainly didn’t like.

“You’re nearly twice my age and I’m still considered your superior,” Q replied, taking one final drag before putting out the cigarette on the bottom of his mug. 

“Feeling authoritative this evening, are we?” the older man asked.

“Perhaps,” was his answer. 

“My equipment?”

“Gone.” 

“For God’s sake, Bond! Did another Komodo Dragon take it?” Q slumped down on top of his desk and lit up another cigarette. 

“No, it was crushed,” Bond replied

“By that car?” 

“Yes.”

“Right, what of the watch and the radio?” 

Bond removed the watch from his wrist and placed it on Q’s desk.

Q picked it up and examined it. “I’m glad you didn’t need to pull the pin on this one. I’m rather fond of it, though I’m sure you would have enjoyed the explosion,” he sighed.

“I’d have enjoyed an exploding pen more.” 

“Of course you would. You can find innuendo in that, can’t you?” Q’s green eyes rolled with exasperation 

“I think about other things besides explosions and sex, Q, you’ve really got me pinned for some mindless machine haven’t you?” 

“Not necessarily, but you do have a penchant for women and the more… shall we say ‘exciting’ things that Q-branch used to whip up for you on a regular basis.,” 

“What can I say? I was rather spoiled before.” Bond shrugged his broad shoulders.

“I heard that at one point, my predecessor went so far as to make you a small aircraft that was concealed behind an artificial horse’s arse,” Q couldn’t help but snicker.

James laughed quietly and Q joined in with snickers of his own. 

“I have to admit though, that the cigarettes with the little rockets in them were pretty exciting.” Q smiled. He hadn’t smiled like this in quite a while. 

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you laugh until now. What’s gotten into you? Are you ill?,” Of course Bond was joking about the last part, but it immediately made Q’s defenses go up. 

“I’m fine actually, 007,” Q said, smiling again to prove his point. 

“I think you’re lying. I suggest you find a way to get better. My arse depends on it.”

Q chuckled again. “If something does happen to me, Quell will take good care of you.” Something about that statement was reassuring to himself as well as the agent in front of him. 

He puffed on his cigarette as the thought of being sent into hospital again crossed his mind. He’d managed to avoid that place for nearly ten years now and he had no intention of going back. 

The best way to stay out of the hospital was to keep the monster that resided within him a secret . All he had to do was get out of bed every morning and get to work on time, get through the day and occasionally let someone feed him up. Of course the most important part was keeping Mycroft out of the whole affair. 

Bond removed his feet from Q’s desk and replaced them with his arms. For a minute, Q thought about how silly it looked. Bond occupied his usual seat while Q was currently perched in Eve’s.

He had a look in his eyes that suggested some sort of flirtation was ahead.

Q leaned back and made himself comfortable, puffing on a new cigarette, ready for whatever Bond could throw at him.

“Should I be going then?” Bond asked. 

That hadn’t been what Q was hoping for, but it seemed like an invitation.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I’ll be here a while longer,.” Q replied.

The corners of the older man’s mouth turned up into a slight smirk.

“Fine. Then I think I’ll make myself comfortable since that’s alright with you.” 

Q pulled his laptop into his lap and continued what he’d been doing before. He felt 007’s eyes on him the entire time.

“What?” he finally asked, peering over the rims of his glasses.

“Nothing of great import, Quartermaster,” Bond replied.

“You’re looking at me like you want to eat me,” the man on the desk said. 

“Perhaps I do,”

“Perhaps I’d like to be eaten,” Q smirked.

“Then let me have a taste.” Bond’s grin was predatory and Q’s eyes were on fire as he put the laptop aside and made his way onto Bond’s lap.  
-

“Q, remind me to get my hearing checked,” Eve said the next morning .

“What has that got to do with anything?” 

“I thought I just heard you say that you let James Bond stuff you up with his cock, in your office.,” She turned to him with a glare in her eyes.

“Don’t tell me you’re jealous,” Q sighed, sinking down into the same chair that Bond had shagged him in

“I’m not,” she said, taking her spot on his desk.

“Then what’s the matter?” He was utterly vexed now. 

“Nothing at all, Q. So does this mean our arrangement has come to an end?” “ 

“What? Nobody said anything about the arrangement after you slept with him. I don’t see how it makes a difference. It was one shag, and I certainly don’t intend to make a habit of it,” Q’s voice was hushed, but caustic nonetheless. 

“Fine.,” She got up off of the desk. “Just get tested. I’d hate to know all of the places that thing has been.” 

“Have you been tested? Not taking your own advice seems to be a problem for you.” “

“Like I said, Q, you don’t know where it’s been.” She folded her arms across her chest.

“It’s been inside you, and that happens to be the same place I’ve been.” He cocked his head to the side. 

Eve clicked out of Q branch and back to her office. 

Q managed to get a few things taken care of before a portly form loomed over his desk.

“What?” he asked.

“That’s no way to greet your brother!” Mycroft sneered. 

Q looked up. “What do you want?” he groaned.

“A little birdy told me that you’re seeing things. And that you’re getting sick again.” 

Getting sick was an understatement if Q had ever heard one. 

“So I take it Eve has told you about the man from the tube?” he asked. 

“Yes, and all of the other supposed Sherlock sightings. He’s dead, Quentin. He’s been buried for quite some time. Perhaps you should start seeing a therapist.” 

Q filled with rage. 

“Out,” he snarled. “Get your fat, filthy arse out of here and don’t you dare say my name in this building. Sherlock was the only real brother I ever had and he’s much more alive than you are. Moriarty called you the Iceman with good reason,”

Mycroft merely tutted and twirled his umbrella as he left .

“How does he even manage to get in here?” Q muttered as he went back to tinkering with a gutted computer. 

His phone buzzed and opened the new message. 

_“My office, 9:30. Sofa -EM”_

Apparently the arrangement was still intact.


	5. May

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There comes a point when you stop eating and start being eaten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Criticism, constructive or otherwise is appreciated.

He’d gone more than a week now. His stomach didn’t rumble anymore, and anything but water and Earl Gray would make his stomach twist into sickening knots at this point. No, this was a perfectly decent fast and Q was not about to break it. Q got up and went for a long walk and when he returned to his flat, it was half past noon. 

The thing about starving is that it makes one’s brain fuzzy. One forgets little things while they fight to stay awake, ingesting cup after caffeine loaded cup of coffee and tea to keep the headaches at bay, but when the crash hits, they’re gone. Q’s made the sudden realization that it was Wednesday when he walked into the door of his flat. “Fucking hell!” He nearly shouted as he bolted up the stairs. 

He collapsed in front of his door. 

Q-branch was busy. It seemed as though everyone was returning home at once, Quell was on the verge of tears as she looked down at the pile of wrecked equipment from agents who weren’t even hers to look after. 

“Where are you?” She pleaded. This was the biggest mess she’d seen since Silva, and sitting here begging for Q wouldn’t help everything. There were at least twenty field agents in Q branch at once, a few of them 00’s and every single one of them trying to talk to her at once. 007 was still in the field. Q was supposed to be attending to him on mobile.

Quark was being even more unhelpful than usual and she was getting fed up quickly, her normally calm, cheerful demeanor quickly fading.  
She had officially had enough. It was time to live up to her name.

Quell got up onto her desk, towering above the throng of agents.

“If you’re waiting to drop off your broken shit, get in a line to my left and prepare your sob story!” This was unbelievably unprofessional, but she had to draw the line somewhere.

“If you’re waiting to receive new shit to break, get in a line to my right!” The agents stood in utter shock for a moment, and then they parted like the red sea. 

She directed her next message toward Quark “You...you lazy son of a whore, If you’re not going to help me out, then you need to keep trying to get a hold of Q.”

“I shall attend to the people receiving new shit to break first, thank you” She said in her typical saccharine voice. Quell got down from her desk and sat back down, pulling out a large box with neatly labeled weapons cases. 

Quark called Q’s mobile, then tried to get his attention by attempting to hack into his system. Nothing worked.

It took over an hour, but Quell had finally distributed the last of the broken equipment to the lower-ranking members of Q branch. She let out a long sigh and leaned back in her office chair.

Just when she thought today’s train wreck was finally cleared away, a voice came through her earpiece. “Q?” it asked

“Quartermaster’s been AWOL for the last three days. Quell speaking, how can I be of assistance, 007?” She replied.

“What?” Bond said “That’s extremely unlike him.”

“I’m well aware, Q-branch is doing all it can to locate him.” Quell said “ Now how can I assist you?” 

“I’m ready for the extraction team, Quartermistress”

Quell located Bond on the map and sent in the extraction team.

“Is that all, 007?” She asked.

“You’re sure you’ve got no idea where Q is?” 

“I’ve got no clue. I’m going to talk to Moneypenny while you fly home. Her and Q…they’re…they’re close.” She said, emphasis on the word “Close”

“Tell me what you hear, will you?” He asked. 

“Of course, report to Q branch on your return. Quartermistress signing off.” She left Bond alone then

She went up to Moneypenny’s office and knocked on the door. 

“Quell. What brings you up here?” Moneypenny hadn’t been back long, she’d gone away on official business with M and Tanner and had only returned the previous evening.

“I don’t suppose you’ve heard from Q have you?” Quell inquired. 

“I haven’t.” 

“Well none of us have seen him since last Friday. He had the weekend off, but he hasn’t shown up all week.”

Eve thought for a moment. 

“Call Mycroft. I'd do it myself, but he won't believe a word I say.” She finally said. Enough was enough. He was probably holed up in his flat with two fingers down his throat. 

Q was sitting at his kitchen table looking at the mess. He’d been scared senseless after he woke up on his own doorstep. Of course, the only way he saw fit to remedy this fear was to eat everything he could possibly get his hands on in a vain attempt to make up for the last week and a half. That was more than stupid and he knew it. 

He was ready to haul himself off to the shower (That usually worked to stop binges from getting any worse) But a knock came at the door.

“Go away.” He called.

“Quentin, open the door.” 

“No, seriously, Mycroft, Go away.” He replied.

Mycroft quickly picked the lock.

“You can’t do that!” Q barked as his brother barged into his flat “That’s breaking and entering”

Mycroft picking his lock was the least of his concerns. 

Two burly men in scrubs stood behind his eldest brother.

Suddenly he was back at his old flat, the one he’d shared with Sherlock. He remembered watching Mycroft storm in with two big men behind him. He remembered the fight Sherlock had put up, even going so far as to stab Mycroft’s arm with one of the needles he used to shoot up heroine.

“Quentin, we can’t let you starve yourself to death, think of how bad the family will look, especially after all of the messes our dearly departed Sherlock made.” The caring tone in his voice was about as fake as the waistline that Mycroft put on with a girdle every morning.

Q put up a fight of his own. He kicked and screamed until his body eventually gave out and the dragged him, limp and exhausted to the waiting van. 

Mycroft followed behind in his car. Anthea sat in the back seat, micromanaging her boss’s life from the mobile that never left her palms.  
That night, after Q had been admitted and had put up several more fights, Mycroft found the time to call M. “They’re keeping him for at least three months He’s emaciated.” That was hardly the truth. He was just under the underweight mark. Q kept himself in careful check. He knew better, or at least he thought he did.

Meanwhile, down in Q-Branch 007 had just flown in from Turkey. 

“How was Istanbul, 007?” Quell asked.

“It certainly wasn’t Constantinople.” Was his reply.

“Very funny, Mr.Bond. However,you certainly won’t be in such a jocular mood when you hear where Q is.”

Bond paused in front of Quell’s desk and gave her a curious look.

“Q’s in hospital. They won’t be letting him out for at least three months. Mycroft says he’s emaciated.”

“I just saw him almost naked a few weeks ago. He looked fine.” 

Quell’s eyes blew wide.

“Probably shouldn’t have said that.” 

“No, you probably shouldn’t have. Mycroft says he’s anorexic. It sounds about right when you think hard about it.”

“And what has Mycroft said about visitors?” Bond asked.

“None at all.” She said.

“And I suppose you’re in charge of my safety for the time being?” 

“You would be correct.” 

He handed Quell his Walther and a radio, which was in pristine condition.

“Q would be proud.” She teased. 

“I’ll be making a surprise visit to Bart’s. I’ll see you next mission, Quartermistress, unless you still would prefer Quell?” 

“Quartermistress is good until Q gets back.” She took a slight bit of pride at the new title, but immediately regretted feeling it.

Sherlock Holmes had watched the display from down the road. He waited a few hours, knowing exactly where they were taking his younger brother.

He managed to sneak into Bart’s through a morgue entrance. He didn't run into Molly, it was time for her dinner break. Sherlock snagged a lab coat and quickly placed it over his clothes. From his pocket he produced a pair of glasses with clear lenses. It didn’t take him too long to find Q. He knew the place like the back of his hand. 

Q was laid out on a hospital bed, fully asleep with an IV dripping into his wrist. 

He looked ill, yes, but not on death’s door. Sherlock had known all about it. Between him never needing to eat because the drugs took the hunger away , and Q’s eating disorder, the pair of them had had the lowest grocery bill in London.  
"You'll be alright. Don't let that fat bastard get to you." He said, moving a curl away from Q's closed eyes.  
Q had decided to pretend to be asleep when he heard footsteps. He heard every word and he nearly opened his eyes.

Meanwhile, Molly Hooper was making her way up from the morgue, peering discreetly in doors as she went. She caught a glimpse of ginger hair and took a closer look.

“You. Out. Now.” She said, realizing exactly what was happening on.

“No.” Sherlock replied.

“You know John took his case, right? He’s due back any minute.” Molly pulled Sherlock out of the room by the arm. 

“No, I was unaware of that.” He allowed Molly to usher him out, if only for the sake of his cover. 

“I’ll keep you updated alright? “ She said. 

“Fine” Sherlock sighed, tossing the lab coat in a nearby bin and stalking off.

Molly went back inside and passed Q’s room again, peering in quietly.

“Is he awake yet?” She asked.

“Not quite. He should come ‘round soon.” John replied. 

It was late at night when James Bond snuck into Q’s hospital room. 

“It’s a bit late for Dr.Watson to be checking in on me” Q thought, his eyes half closed and his vision blurred without his glasses. He heard footsteps approaching the bed and a larger figure looming over it.

The man was too tall to be Dr.Watson. 

“007?” Q said.

“Quartermaster?” Was his reply.

“Just Quentin now,” Q sighed.

“Well, I suppose that’s alright.” 

“Tell Moneypenny I saw him, will you?” He asked.

“Saw who?” 

“Sherlock. He’s such a clever bastard. He came in here in a lab coat and a pair of glasses. Thought I wouldn’t recognize him. Molly Hooper pulled him out by the arm like she was his nanny."

Bond looked at the IV drip in Q’s arm and then to Q’s eyes. He had to have been quite heavily medicated.

He didn’t say anything in regards to Sherlock’s reappearance from the grave. 

“You know, 007, I’m perhaps a bit too fond of you.” Q sighed, his eyes half lidded. He really was. He was as fond of James as he was of Eve, and in a similar way. 

“Is that so?” Bond chuckled. 

“Who said you were allowed? He’s not supposed to have visitors at all outside of immediate family, especially not at this hour.” A voice said from the hall. 

“Then what are you doing here?” Bond asked, rolling his eyes.

“I’m the one that put him here.” Mycroft replied.

“It’s alright, James, just…don’t get him all flustered. He’ll get upset and eat everything in the cafeteria.” Q sighed as he fell back asleep.

“Well, Mycroft, I suppose I’ll be going. I wouldn’t want you to break your diet because of me.” James left without further argument. He left Bart’s through the front door and walked down the pavement, thinking about what Q had said. Fond could mean a lot of things, especially with the way things had gone between them the previous month. They had shagged again, this time at Q’s flat, and it had been extraordinary. But he was convinced that it didn’t go much farther than that. 

The next morning, Q woke up to Dr.Watson’s voice. 

“Can you try to eat something today? Not a lot. Just soup.” He said once Q had sat up and put his glasses on. 

“Perhaps.” 

“Not perhaps, Quentin. Yes is a better answer.” 

“Alright, fine.” Q sighed.

John put a tray containing a Styrofoam bowl full of soup and a spoon in front of Q and sat down on the bed. 

It was chicken-noodle soup, and it’s aroma made Q’s stomach growl. The desire to eat it was merely physical though. Q, like his brother, considered himself to be beyond the physical.

“You should probably try to eat some of it before it gets cold.” John said when he realized that Q was just staring into the bowl.

Q had a very Sherlockian passion for games.

He was quiet for another moment. “How about a game, Dr.Watson? I’ll take one bite for every question you answer.” 

John let out a deep sigh. “I bet your mum had a lot of fun with the two of you eh?” He chuckled. 

“I can probably count on one hand the number of times Sherlock and I saw our mother in more than a passing glance. I’m the one who’s asking the questions here.” Q’s tone was authoritative and John knew from experience that there was no point in trying to argue.

“Fine,” He replied. 

“Why did you volunteer for my case?

“Lestrade said I should get away from the crime scenes for a bit. “

Q picked up the foam bowl and took a sip of broth. 

“ Did Mycroft tell you why he doesn’t want me to have visitors?”

“ He said something about family shame and keeping "That bloody MI6 agent out. You’ll be able to have visitors once we transfer you into an eating disorders clinic in a few days, but even then Mycroft can put limits on who’s allowed to visit. “

Q used the spoon this time and dug out a noodle.

“Have I been declared mentally incompetent?”

“Until your treatment ends in a few months, yes.”

He shook his head and ate another bite.

“Do you think Sherlock is still alive somewhere?” Q asked.

“I would like to think so, but we all know that it’s probably not the case.” That question had made John's heart heavy.

Another slurp of broth was gone. The bowl was now almost half-empty.

Now Q decided it was time to go a bit deeper.

“Were you in love with him?” He said with a smirk.

“Sherlock?” 

“No, Mycroft. Of course Sherlock”

“I’m not gay.” John responded.

Q decided that answer was good enough and he took two bites this time.

“Did you know that he was in love with you?” He asked as he finished the soup.


	6. June

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm extremely sorry for the long wait.

June  
John Watson still carried around the weight of Q’s revelation with him wherever he went. It was a rock in his pocket at Scotland Yard, A heavy rucksack strapped to him at work and it became nothing short of a ball and chain when he unlocked the door to 221B Baker Street. 

He was exhausted when he unlocked the door and started up the stairs. Mrs. Hudson cried out a greeting from her flat which John returned half-heartedly. The flat was empty, just as he had expected it to be. The silence hung thick in the air like a heavy smoke coming from something that Sherlock would have been searing on the stove. Everything was just as he had left it. The door to Sherlock’s bedroom was shut, just as it had been for the last year. 

John approached the door and curled his hand around the knob. He gave it a half-turn but stopped himself.  
“I love you too.” He said, his voice barely audible, even in the quiet.

Across the street, Sherlock watched through his open window, binoculars in his hands, staring into the emptiness of his old home through the sitting room window. He watched John make himself tea, he observed Watson observing world news on the television, and finally he watched the other man resign himself to another listless night’s sleep. 

At the eating disorders clinic, Q sat in his bed with his knees tucked up to his chest. “They’re determined to put a stone on me.” He said to Eve, who had managed to wheedle the nurses into letting her in, even though Mycroft had taken every precaution to keep her and everyone else that Q even remotely liked out. 

“It’ll be fine, love.” She sighed “You could use the weight. The sooner you gain it, the sooner you’ll be out of here.”   
Q rested his head against eve’s shoulder.” You know from experience that it isn’t that easy.” He sighed.

“Has 007 been back to see you?” 

“Once or twice,” Q replied “When he can. He’s been busy. I worry though. It was my job to keep him safe and I feel like I’m not doing it by being stuck here.”

“You need to do things for yourself for once. And I’m not talking about bubble baths and manicures” Eve said gently “You need to be in top mental shape, so you can save him if need be.”

“I’m aware of that now.” He said 

“Any conjugal visits?” She teased, in an attempt to lighten the mood.

Q rolled his eyes. “No. I’m not in prison, Eve, though sometimes it seems that way. And Quell has been giving me updates while he’s away. She’s practically the only person who doesn’t have to bribe the nurses to get in here.” 

She laughed quietly.

“So has it been hurting?” Eve asked. 

It certainly had been hurting, especially the first few weeks. Q had expected this place to be a crock of shit. He expected there to be group discussions about feelings and to be made to eat more gradually.

He got none of that. This hospital was as tough as they came. On the first morning, and for many, many meals after, Q wouldn’t be allowed to leave the table until he had cleared away everything on his plate, a task which could take hours if he was feeling stubborn.

He was right to be stubborn though. His stomach wanted nothing to do with the food. It angrily churned and knotted itself up when more than a few bites made their way into it. God forbid he ate something that was difficult to digest. Q would be on his side, knees up tight to his chest, begging the pain to go away. The pain very gradually lessened as his body slowly became accustomed to being fed again. 

In one fit of extreme stubbornness in his first week , which involved a lot of screaming and petulance ,an orderly had dragged him away from the table and the other patients to his room. A nurse brought in a can of Ensure. “Alright, it can’t be too bad” He thought, as the hulking nurse sat down in a chair next to his bed. She had no intention of leaving him.

It tasted foul to say the least. It was thick and repulsive, every swallow was a fight to keep it down.

Once he finished, the nurse finally let him be with the sickly sweet taste in his mouth.

“You keep up this nonsense and you could be put on a feeding tube, so I would advise against being so stubborn. You’ve obviously got no idea how serious your case is.” She warned as she turned and left. Her substantial hips hit the doorframe as she left. .

“Lights out at nine.” She said in parting 

Q had rolled up in his bed, trying to get the sickly taste from his mouth.

He was determined to eat now, if only to avoid being force fed either by a tube or the glaring eyes of an exasperated nurse.   
~  
Eve hadn’t been surprised when he had told her about all of that. In fact, she remembered very clearly the threat of the feeding tubes during her stint in hospital that had occurred shortly before Uni. 

She wrapped her arms around Q, who felt a little less bony now. He was still fragile in her embrace. His skin was still pallid. Or perhaps that was just the fluorescent lights that gave even the healthiest complexion a sickly tint. 

Q began to drift off on her shoulder. Once she was sure that he was sleeping, Eve gently slipped her arm from around his back and caught a cab back to MI6.

“How is he?” Mallory asked as he came into her office from the door that connected it to his.

“I’m not sure. He’s really being quite casual out about it. My guess is he’ll start back up again as soon as they let him out.” She said, with the weight of doubt in her voice as she turned on a pot of coffee. 

M sat down on the sofa, the leather making uncomfortable noises in the silence.

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to deal with it…I guess you could say the whole situation sort of makes me uncomfortable.” He said.  
“Is it because it’s a man who’s in charge of an entire branch of MI6 and not some office girl?” She asked.

“I hate to admit it, but yes. I didn’t think these sorts of things happened to men.”

Eve handed him a foam coffee cup, like the one she had given Q that day she had gently forced food into him.   
She didn’t say anything for a while, deciding to ignore that comment.

“He’s just as stubborn as ever. I won’t be shocked if he has a relapse the minute he walks out that door.” 

M finished his coffee and left for a meeting before they could delve any deeper into Q’s personal troubles.

Meanwhile, Q had woken up from his nap and was lounging in the dayroom, with a book propped up on his lap. This was how he had spent most of his days so far. Other patients, mostly women of varying shape and size milled about, idling between group therapy , individual therapy and food. Some sat quietly in the tired-looking white room and others chatted. A girl slept quietly on the sofa, her socked feet inches away from Q’s lap. This was where she sat every day. 

She would start out with a word search puzzle, then slowly drift off until her head was resting on the arm of the sofa and her legs were tucked up under her.

Her name was Lydia, she was fifteen, and though they had only spoken once to exchange names and ages, she was the closest thing to a friend that Q had here. 

Q set down his book and watched Lydia sleep. She reminded him of a young Eve, all dark skin and long legs. Her hair was much longer though, and the shape of her face was slightly more round. She was perpetually hooked up to an IV. The tube ran from the wrist that wasn’t tucked under her head to a bag that loomed over her like a cloud.

There was a fairly constant flux of population here. Q saw new girls come in on an almost daily basis. At least once a week, someone was transferred or went home. On fairly rare occasions someone died. In some respects, it was like losing an agent. The deaths didn’t faze him like they did some of the others. The handful of other men grew solemn with the older women who would shed a silent tear or two while the young girls would bawl and nurses would hold them close in consolation

On Tuesdays, Lydia didn’t occupy her usual position on the sofa and Q didn’t think much of it as he read through yet another pulp fiction novel. 

On Wednesday she was gone. Maybe she decided to nap somewhere else.

On Thursday he’d decided that she’d gone home. 

Friday he’d been told she was dead.

A nurse told her that Lydia had been rushed off to the emergency room, and she had eventually died of heart failure. He couldn’t give more details.

Q was dumbstruck by how much it hurt. They had exchanged all of ten words in their time together, if one could call it that.   
He sat on his spot on the sofa, staring at hers and wondering why his heart felt so empty.

“She was young. Everyone mourns the young dead, even if they didn’t know them.” He thought. 

“Maybe it’s just change. Someone else will start sitting there.”

“Perhaps I’ve gone mad.”

More days passed and more nights with them. A portly older woman had sat in Lydia’s spot and Q had snapped at her. It had gotten him sent to his room for the remainder of the day and he’d had to apologize to the woman. 

Bond snuck in on a Thursday

“Q” He inquired.

Q was laying still in his bed. 

“Hm?” He replied. He was half asleep, the weight of dinner in his stomach was unsettling, but getting easier to bear the longer it sat there. 

“I managed to shut down a multi-national terrorist ring a bit sooner than I expected, so I thought I’d pop in.”

 

Q let out a small, tired laugh. 

“Just popping in?” He asked “Because only James Bond can just ‘Pop in’ to a mental hospital.” He said, scooting over a bit so Bond could get comfortable. 

“So, are they taking care of you?” Bond asked. He almost made the question sound like a joke.

“They’re certainly feeding me up.” Q replied.

“It shows.” Bond said softly.

That hurt. “What do you mean, it shows? I’ve half a mind to call a nurse after that comment, you prick.” 

James sighed and moved a piece of Q’s hair away from his face. 

“What I meant is that…you look alive. You look more alert, you’ve got some color.” 

That did nothing to make Q feel better.

He didn’t shoo James away though. “How was your mission?” He asked, trying to force the subject away from himself.

“It went well.” Bond said. 

Q decided that being scornful toward Bond wasn’t worth it. He allowed himself to rest his head on Jame’s lap and let him fill him in on the details of the mission. 

“Is Quell taking care of you?” He asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Not as well as you are, but yes, she’s doing a fine job. She's quite fearsome if you cross her.”

"She's authoritative. I like that. If I die, she's first in line to be my replacement." Q said softly.

"Don't talk about that." James said, though he was no stranger to death and held no fear of it himself, he feared for the lives of others.

Bond slipped out a short while later. 

Quentin kept his eyes focused on the door. The wee hours of the morning were approaching. This was always when he struck.  
He heard footsteps in the hallway and his elder brother would appear in the doorway in the guise of a night shift doctor.

Sherlock would only come in for a few moments, just to look at Q and occasionally brush a strand of hair from his face.  
By morning, the sleeping medication would wear off and Q would recall dreaming of the red haired man coming into his room at night.


End file.
